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fandomweekly2024-09-23 08:35 pm
a_little_apocalypse) wrote in fandomweekly2024-09-23 08:35 pm
Entry tags:
[#234] Tuned Frequency (Alan Wake II)
Theme Prompt: #234 - Comfort
Title: Tuned Frequency
Fandom: Alan Wake II
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, spoilers for Control
Bonus: No
Word Count: 983
Summary: Casper learns, moment to moment, the things that Tom Zane is capable of.
Everything about the place in which Casper had found himself felt like a paradox, or at least a mass of contradictions that only kept piling up. He felt simultaneously as if it was impossible to know how long he'd been there and very aware of what that length of time would be, feeling like his life beyond and outside and back at the Bureau was both in recent memory and a lifetime away both at once. He didn't know what it was that he'd left behind (only hoping that what he'd done could be anything like enough) and he didn't know what he was heading towards - only that there was now darkness, now and before and all around.
It didn't frighten him, though. Sometimes, he wondered if he should be scared, but that emotion never felt relevant. The darkness left him alone, for the most part - but for the times that it would envelop him, a sensation that brought warmth and brought comfort, almost like touch.
Casper hadn't considered the absence of touch before he found himself confronted by it. It was never something he'd had to consider; there had been times of drought and absence, but there had always been someone--...
...-- inevitably--... Zach.
It would have been Zach.
The thoughts of what had been left behind would then threaten to drown him, wrapped around his throat and colder than any surrounding darkness. Remorse so palpable that even the darkness itself would flee in terror. Still, there, the feeling of if I'd done more-- and if I'd found the words to make him listen--
There was darkness, silence, contemplation. Then, however, was Tom. Tom, who had emerged from the darkness. Tom, who - similarly - seemed fearless in the face of their surroundings. Who had greeted him warmly and embraced him easily, who granted affection so openly it felt, somehow, like a trap. Like all of this was too easy, somehow. Like there would be a moment where Tom's expression would change and all touch would be withheld as the list of Casper's misdeeds lay out before him--
--but for now, that hadn't happened. Tom's touch was gentle, and Casper would lean into it. Responded with an ease - and sometimes a desperation - that would make Tom laugh in his confusion.
"You seem frightened, sometimes."
Casper's turn to be confused. Tom didn't frighten him. (Again, sometimes, he wondered if he should.)
"Frightened... what of?"
Even as he spoke, Tom's fingers played at his cheek, and he'd press himself to them; Casper didn't see that as being motivated through fear, but Tom evidently felt differently.
"Of the moment I take my hand away."
(To hear it like that felt faintly ridiculous; no touch could last forever, after all.)
Casper would lie in Tom's arms, wondering how long it had been that they'd known each other. He remembered their first meeting, but that meant little; it hadn't felt like meeting as much as being brought together - like they'd known each other for a lot longer, somehow. How long had it been? Weeks, months? An instant, eternity?
"Your Zach... he held you, didn't he?"
Tom would ask questions like this sometimes, like fragments of a conversation that had been drawn in from someplace elsewhere. And his curiosity seemed open and genuine, which made it harder to answer. ('Your Zach,' Tom would say. As if I'd ever have been able to call him 'mine', Casper would think.)
"I'd rather not--... talk about that, if that's alright with you." (Casper regretted, sometimes, having spoken of Trench to Tom to begin with.) (But when even was that? When did I--)
"Of course." Tom would stroke Casper's arm as he spoke, a movement as gentle as it was enthralling, tracing spirals against his skin. "But you'd want to see him again, wouldn't you?"
"In a moment, if I could." Even if only for a moment. So much left unsaid.
"I can't bring him to you, I'm afraid. ...But I could bring his voice to you, if you wanted."
"... What?" Casper moved to look at Tom. His expression seemed sincere.
"I told you, didn't I? That you sounded familiar." (Tom's lips, then, pressed reverently to the hollow of his throat.) "I've known his voice, too. There are so many voices here, if you'll just let yourself hear them...!"
How could you know--... Casper didn't know how even to word his confusion at Tom's thought. Not the first time he'd reached for lofty concepts, beyond the realms of comprehension, but the first time the risk of suggestion had felt so close. He stared at Tom without saying anything, long enough to prompt him into action.
"Darling," spoken to his left ear. "Casper," to his right. The sound of a voice so familiar that it set an ache in Casper's chest just to hear it, but also something else - not fear, but just as deep, just as visceral - to be hearing it here. He pushed away from Tom, staring at him, very aware of the fact that as a person - as an entity - I don't actually know you, and what you're capable of.
I don't know you, and you shouldn't know of him.
"That... was his voice, wasn't it? Or did I make a mistake?"
"No, no--... I mean, yes, it--..." Casper faltered, forcing a smile as if trying to diplomatically refuse a misjudged gift, wrapped in ribbon and presented with enthusiasm. "Please don't--... do that again."
Tom only gave a small shrug, implying Casper's rejection not a big deal in a way that felt, in that moment, merciful. "As you wish. Whatever you want, Darling - you need only ask."
"R-right. I know. Thank you." Knowing the option there, if, in a moment of weakness, I--
Casper returned to Tom's arms, settling himself, saying nothing. No, even then--... especially then.
I only want to hear your voice from your own lips, Zach. Nowhere else.
Title: Tuned Frequency
Fandom: Alan Wake II
Rating/Warnings: PG-13, spoilers for Control
Bonus: No
Word Count: 983
Summary: Casper learns, moment to moment, the things that Tom Zane is capable of.
Everything about the place in which Casper had found himself felt like a paradox, or at least a mass of contradictions that only kept piling up. He felt simultaneously as if it was impossible to know how long he'd been there and very aware of what that length of time would be, feeling like his life beyond and outside and back at the Bureau was both in recent memory and a lifetime away both at once. He didn't know what it was that he'd left behind (only hoping that what he'd done could be anything like enough) and he didn't know what he was heading towards - only that there was now darkness, now and before and all around.
It didn't frighten him, though. Sometimes, he wondered if he should be scared, but that emotion never felt relevant. The darkness left him alone, for the most part - but for the times that it would envelop him, a sensation that brought warmth and brought comfort, almost like touch.
Casper hadn't considered the absence of touch before he found himself confronted by it. It was never something he'd had to consider; there had been times of drought and absence, but there had always been someone--...
...-- inevitably--... Zach.
It would have been Zach.
The thoughts of what had been left behind would then threaten to drown him, wrapped around his throat and colder than any surrounding darkness. Remorse so palpable that even the darkness itself would flee in terror. Still, there, the feeling of if I'd done more-- and if I'd found the words to make him listen--
There was darkness, silence, contemplation. Then, however, was Tom. Tom, who had emerged from the darkness. Tom, who - similarly - seemed fearless in the face of their surroundings. Who had greeted him warmly and embraced him easily, who granted affection so openly it felt, somehow, like a trap. Like all of this was too easy, somehow. Like there would be a moment where Tom's expression would change and all touch would be withheld as the list of Casper's misdeeds lay out before him--
--but for now, that hadn't happened. Tom's touch was gentle, and Casper would lean into it. Responded with an ease - and sometimes a desperation - that would make Tom laugh in his confusion.
"You seem frightened, sometimes."
Casper's turn to be confused. Tom didn't frighten him. (Again, sometimes, he wondered if he should.)
"Frightened... what of?"
Even as he spoke, Tom's fingers played at his cheek, and he'd press himself to them; Casper didn't see that as being motivated through fear, but Tom evidently felt differently.
"Of the moment I take my hand away."
(To hear it like that felt faintly ridiculous; no touch could last forever, after all.)
Casper would lie in Tom's arms, wondering how long it had been that they'd known each other. He remembered their first meeting, but that meant little; it hadn't felt like meeting as much as being brought together - like they'd known each other for a lot longer, somehow. How long had it been? Weeks, months? An instant, eternity?
"Your Zach... he held you, didn't he?"
Tom would ask questions like this sometimes, like fragments of a conversation that had been drawn in from someplace elsewhere. And his curiosity seemed open and genuine, which made it harder to answer. ('Your Zach,' Tom would say. As if I'd ever have been able to call him 'mine', Casper would think.)
"I'd rather not--... talk about that, if that's alright with you." (Casper regretted, sometimes, having spoken of Trench to Tom to begin with.) (But when even was that? When did I--)
"Of course." Tom would stroke Casper's arm as he spoke, a movement as gentle as it was enthralling, tracing spirals against his skin. "But you'd want to see him again, wouldn't you?"
"In a moment, if I could." Even if only for a moment. So much left unsaid.
"I can't bring him to you, I'm afraid. ...But I could bring his voice to you, if you wanted."
"... What?" Casper moved to look at Tom. His expression seemed sincere.
"I told you, didn't I? That you sounded familiar." (Tom's lips, then, pressed reverently to the hollow of his throat.) "I've known his voice, too. There are so many voices here, if you'll just let yourself hear them...!"
How could you know--... Casper didn't know how even to word his confusion at Tom's thought. Not the first time he'd reached for lofty concepts, beyond the realms of comprehension, but the first time the risk of suggestion had felt so close. He stared at Tom without saying anything, long enough to prompt him into action.
"Darling," spoken to his left ear. "Casper," to his right. The sound of a voice so familiar that it set an ache in Casper's chest just to hear it, but also something else - not fear, but just as deep, just as visceral - to be hearing it here. He pushed away from Tom, staring at him, very aware of the fact that as a person - as an entity - I don't actually know you, and what you're capable of.
I don't know you, and you shouldn't know of him.
"That... was his voice, wasn't it? Or did I make a mistake?"
"No, no--... I mean, yes, it--..." Casper faltered, forcing a smile as if trying to diplomatically refuse a misjudged gift, wrapped in ribbon and presented with enthusiasm. "Please don't--... do that again."
Tom only gave a small shrug, implying Casper's rejection not a big deal in a way that felt, in that moment, merciful. "As you wish. Whatever you want, Darling - you need only ask."
"R-right. I know. Thank you." Knowing the option there, if, in a moment of weakness, I--
Casper returned to Tom's arms, settling himself, saying nothing. No, even then--... especially then.
I only want to hear your voice from your own lips, Zach. Nowhere else.
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